Saturday, May 7, 2011

when one runs out of roses


. . . one improvises.

In other news, I danced last night. And woke this morning to glutes abloom with muscle knots. Not to mention one sore-ass sacrum.

Worth it for the first four tandas with Jack in twice as many weeks, and for the way he said, "I don't need to dance with anybody else tonight."

I may be crippled again by Monday, but—ladies and gentlemen—life's too freaking short.

3 comments:

Bathwater said...

As long as crippled doesn't = relapse.

Hannah Miet said...

What I like about this post out of context is that it could fit in any era.

I'm not a dancer, so the romance of dancing reminds me of ballrooms in black and white movies.

Happy healing.

Phoenix said...

Love it! Life's too freakin' short indeed.

I hope you're recovering and that things are well with you.